Си Бокс - Dark Sky

“Maybe we should tell my dad,” she said. Game wardens were empowered to sign off on falconry permits in their area after the applicant had passed the California Hawking Club’s written test. Maybe her dad would have an idea of who else was operating in the district.

“Any scumbag who would set up traps on another man’s honey hole isn’t the type who would apply for a license,” Nate said.

“But we should try that first, right?”

He glared at her. “That sounds like something Joe would say. No. Falconers take care of their own business. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

SIX

While Nate and Sheridan headed back to his place, Marybeth Pickett sat across a table in the Burg-O-Pardner restaurant from interim county prosecutor AnnaBelle Griffith, who seemed nervous and a little agitated. It was midafternoon and the lunch crowd had dispersed, so the two women were the only customers in the place, which smelled of faint cigarette smoke and grease from the kitchen, where the specialty, deep-fried Rocky Mountain oysters, had been served for twenty-seven years.

The interior of the restaurant was dated; its light-colored paneling buckled near the ceiling and its deer and elk mounts were interspersed with fading Gordon Snidow Coors Beer prints between them. There were no menus. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner items were written on a whiteboard in quivering script.

Marybeth had suggested they meet at a coffee shop on Main Street, but Griffith had insisted on the Burg-O-Pardner. Since they’d both ordered coffee, Marybeth wasn’t sure what Griffith was thinking.

“I’ve heard of the Burg-O-Pardner since I moved here,” Griffith said as the coffee was served. “I wanted to see it for myself. I was kind of expecting more.”

“It doesn’t look like much,” Marybeth said. “But for whatever reason it’s the place where all the city fathers meet every morning to discuss local issues. It’s our shadow city hall.”

“Are any of the city fathers women?”

“Rarely.”

Griffith nodded. “I understand that the decision to reach out to me for the job was made here.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

AnnaBelle Griffith, dressed in a dark business suit over a white top and wearing a thin strand of pearls, was in her early thirties, trim, and tightly wrapped, Marybeth thought. She’d recently been asked by the Twelve Sleep County commissioners to fill in as county prosecutor until the next local election, after the last county prosecutor, Duane Patterson, had met his sudden demise. Prior to that, Griffith had been an assistant district attorney in Natrona County.

The commissioners had been busy, and Marybeth understood the pressure they’d been under the past year. Not only had Patterson been gunned down by an associate in the street, but the newly elected sheriff, Brendan Kapelow, had simply packed his belongings and moved away before the state’s Division of Criminal Investigation could open a review of his past actions. Although there were some concerns that Kapelow would file suit against the county for the injuries he’d sustained while on the job, he hadn’t done so yet.

The commissioners had also asked former Niobrara County sheriff Scott Tibbs to come out of retirement and fill the role in Twelve Sleep County on a temporary basis. Tibbs was older, folksy, slow-moving, and, most of all, clean when it came to scandal. He had a huge white mustache and jowls, and enjoyed the Christmas season because he looked forward to playing Santa whenever he was asked. Thus far, Tibbs had been blessed with a quiet year, with no major crimes or controversies. His easygoing manner was at odds with that kind of thing, and he’d apparently been rewarded for it. His deputies and clerical staff seemed to like him, and he made a point of telling the Saddlestring Roundup that he was “button-poppin’ proud” of his team.

Marybeth reserved judgment on both new officials. AnnaBelle seemed competent if hard-charging, and Tibbs seemed anything but. It had been Marybeth’s experience that political entities always hired the exact opposite of whoever was being replaced, and it seemed to be the case here. Joe had proceeded cautiously with them both as well, saying, “Every time I get to know and like these folks, something bad seems to happen to them.”

—

Do you have any ties to our valley?” Marybeth asked Griffith.

“Not really anymore,” Griffith said. “I used to come up here in the summer and stay at my grandparents’ cabin in the Bighorns. I always liked it. But no, I don’t know many people here yet.”

“I’ll help with that,” Marybeth said. “In fact, there’s a Chamber of Commerce social tomorrow night at Rex’s Taxidermy on Main Street. You should come. I’ll introduce you around to the business community.”

Griffith nodded, but didn’t commit. She seemed suspicious of Marybeth and not quite comfortable with her. Marybeth empathized. After all, she was about to ask something very sensitive of the new county prosecutor.

“Do you plan to put down roots here?” Marybeth asked.

“I haven’t made that decision yet. I’m operating one day at a time. I know how fortunate I am to get a position like this, given my age and gender. I want to make the most of it and we’ll go from there.”

“Good for you,” Marybeth said. “It won’t be as hard as you think. This place is filled with strong women. The county attorney before Duane Patterson was Dulcie Schalk. She is my best friend.”

“And you’re the director of the library,” Griffith said. “I haven’t been in there yet.”

“I know.”

Griffith looked startled.

“I didn’t mean to sound judgmental,” Marybeth said. “I’m not chastising you. But it’s an old Carnegie building and very small. I usually know who’s there and who’s not.”

Griffith sipped her coffee and winced. “This is quite strong.” Then: “Is there really a purpose to libraries anymore, with the Internet and all?”

Marybeth tried not to react. She said, “Small-town libraries are often community centers as well. Ours is. It’s a place where you can meet a good cross section of locals and learn more about them. I find out more about what’s going on in the valley by talking with locals than any other means.”

“Interesting.”

Marybeth didn’t want to say how much Joe relied on her for inside information and intel when it came to his own job and the cases he worked. Not only did she use library resources to do research and access law enforcement databases, she was also his behind-the-scenes partner and adviser. Her position at the library provided him with background and insight he’d never have by himself.

Marybeth took a sip of coffee as well. It was bitter and she guessed the pot had likely stayed on the warmer since lunchtime.

“You asked me to meet you,” Griffith said.

“I guess there’s no reason to beat around the bush. May I call you AnnaBelle?”

“Sure.”

“AnnaBelle, I know you inherited a caseload of work when you took over here. In particular, there are potential charges against a man named Nate Romanowski.”

“Ah,” Griffith said with a self-satisfied smile. “Now I know why we’re here.”

“Nate is an old family friend,” Marybeth said. “There’s no doubt he’s a different kind of person and he’s very rough around the edges. But he’s a good man.”

“A good man?” Griffith said. “Are we talking about the guy who is accused of assaulting the last sheriff and literally ripping his ear off of his head? That good man?”

“Yes,” Marybeth said. “As I’m sure you’ve seen from the case notes, his wife and baby had been kidnapped, he needed to get out of jail to save them, and the sheriff refused to help or cooperate. And Nate never should have been jailed in the first place. That’s in the notes, too.”